


lucky charm

by captaindanger



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/F, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaindanger/pseuds/captaindanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa is an up-and-coming underground fighter. Clarke is a nursing student. After Clarke patches Lexa up one night, Lexa finds that her fighting gets 10x better. With no other explanation, Lexa comes to one conclusion: Clarke Griffin is her lucky charm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is my first multichapter fic??? i thought i would never write one but here we are.

Chain-link fencing rattled, the only thing separating the fighters from the audience. Men gripped onto it, fingers entwined with steel wire, taunts and spittle flying from their mouths. The air was stale and oppressive, the smell of cheap alcohol, sweat, and blood mingling together. A lot of the sweat and blood was leaking from Lexa herself. It was her third fight of the night and the two fluids dripped into her eyes, clouding her already blurry vision. 

Lexa could feel a bruise forming under one of her cheekbones from a particularly solid punch. Her upper lip was split, too, the taste of copper flooding her mouth. There was a gash above her left eye that she knew would need stitches; it was bleeding gratuitously, enough to trickle down the side of her face and down past the collar of her sports bra. Anya wiped it away impatiently as she tried to talk Lexa out of another match. Lexa ignored her. Another match meant another round of bets that she would win. 

The woman on the other side of the ring had a face gnarled by time and fists. There was a deep, jagged groove curving up from the right side of her mouth to her ear, pulling her face into a permanent smirk. From what Lexa could surmise from twenty feet away, she was maybe two inches taller than Lexa and at least ten pounds heavier. But Lexa was younger and quicker, and her confidence didn’t waiver.

“I can do this,” she shushed Anya, pushing away the water bottle her sister shoved toward her mouth. She slid her mouth guard back in through her lips and gave a thumbs-up to the referee, signaling she was ready. Tightening up her gloves, she shook out her limbs, breathing deep. A chant rose from the crowd, ‘fight, fight, fight,’ as the ref gestured them forward, explaining the rules again as if they hadn’t heard the same speech a hundred different times already. The two women knocked paws, and stepped back, falling into their defensive stances. Then a bell rang and they surged forward.

Lexa had been fighting for so long, the dance was like second nature to her. Jabs flied toward her and she ducked out of the way, hands coming up to block. She punched back, aiming for any exposed skin, landing two and receiving two back.

Blood was trickling down her neck, tracking an itchy line down her skin, and she raised an arm up to wipe it away, only to catch an elbow in the face. Momentarily dazed, her opponent took advantage of her confusion to land an uppercut square to Lexa’s mouth. Pain shot through her face, blood welling on her tongue. 

Lexa found herself flat on her back, the other fighter mounting her, raining down blows on Lexa’s arms as she brought them up to protect herself. She could feel her head pounding, her vision turning double. Refusing to lose, she shot her fist up, catching the other woman in the nose. Her opponent swore as blood ran down her lips and Lexa used the distraction to push up with her hips, swinging a leg over until she had switched their positions, ending up on top.

The woman under her struggled, attempting to gain the upper hand again, and they grappled, trading punches. As her opponent shoved at her with the blunt of her shoulder, Lexa got an arm up under the woman’s neck, wrapping it around her throat. Her other arm came under the woman’s chin too, reinforcing the choke hold, cutting off the other fighter’s breath.

The woman was stronger than her small stature let on, as she was able to physically lift Lexa off of her, throwing her to the side and then pushing her body up in a half-somersault, feet landing on the other side of Lexa. Lexa quickly rolled away, and they both stood facing each other again, shifting from foot to foot. 

Adrenaline was surging through Lexa now and the sting of the cuts on her face felt like a distant memory. All she could focus on was felling the woman in front of her, who looked disoriented from her momentary lack of oxygen. Lexa edged into her space, bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready to duck out of the way if her opponent sent a shot her way. 

Fast as Lexa could muster, she attacked, head dropped low, fists furious. It was what she was known for, the endless energy, the speed. One, two, three, the woman grunted in pain as each punch connected with her stomach. Her forearms came up to weakly block, but Lexa broke past her defenses, connecting with her ribs.

A round kick to the face finished the woman; she toppled, muscles lax as she fell unconscious. The referee crouched down next to the woman’s prone form, counting to ten. When there was no sign of stirring, he stood up and declared, “We have a winner!” He grabbed Lexa by the wrist and raised her arm.

Lexa took heaving breaths, feeling her heart pound in her chest. As the bloodlust wore off and she came back to reality, she became aware of the delighted howls, repeating her nickname over and over, “Commander! Commander! Commander!”

She couldn’t help the self-satisfied smile that came to her lips, pumping her fist in the air, banging on her chest. A cry went up through the crowd as she did, celebratory, the high of a good fight still thrumming through their veins.

The excitement began to wear off as she left the ring and the aches hit her like a semi-truck. Anya walked quickly to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist and escorting her out away from the still-bellowing mob. 

The fights that night had been held in an abandoned warehouse, enough space to move around in and far from prying eyes or listening ears. Moonlight shown through the broken windows high above, illuminating the makeshift locker room that had been set up for the fighters. Anya led her to a crate that acted as a bench, careful not to jostle Lexa as she set her down. Lexa groaned as she settled onto the wooden seat, a hand coming up to clutch at her aching head.

“You really need to know your own limits, Lex,” Anya scolded her, rummaging through the gym bag she had brought with them. 

“I won, didn’t I?” Lexa groaned, blood dribbling into her mouth. She spat a glob of it onto the dirty floor. Somewhere behind her, she heard something skittering across the concrete, and she prayed it wasn’t a rat.

“Idiot,” Lexa heard Anya mutter under her breath. Lexa snorted.

Footsteps echoed around the room as Lincoln sauntered in, shuffling bills through his fingers, counting. He looked pleased. “How much?” Lexa asked.

“About 300,” he said as he finished tallying.

Anya whistled, impressed, as she pulled a piece of cloth out of the gym bag. “Now do you think that last fight was worth it?” Lexa asked her smugly. Her sister just cocked an eyebrow as she walked over to stand in front of Lexa.

Anya crouched down so that she was nearly eye level with Lexa and carefully dabbed at the cuts covering Lexa’s face, trying not to press too hard on the wounds. “Where’s Nyko?” she asked her brother. “I want him to check if this cut needs stitches.” She pointed at the gash on Lexa’s forehead. It wasn’t deep but it was wide and was bleeding freely, staining the whole left side of Lexa’s face a painful red from her hairline to her neck. 

Lincoln looked a little worried. “He’s not here today, I thought I told you,” he explained. Anya paused in her cleaning of Lexa’s face to turn to face him and listen. “He’s working at the clinic tonight.” 

Nyko was a doctor well known in the underground fighting community. He was a kind man, quiet but gentle. He usually came to watch the fights and patched the fighters up afterward (for a small fee). He’d had to care for Lexa more than once after a match went south. He used the extra money he got from the fights to help finance the dispensary he worked at. 

“Great,” Lexa drawled, sounding less than enthused. 

Anya pivoted on the balls of her feet to look up at Lexa. “Can’t we go to the hospital for once?” she pled. “We can tell them you got mugged or something.”

“No,” Lexa snapped, voice sharp as a razor. Anya narrowed her eyes in warning at Lexa’s tone and Lexa’s shoulders slumped. “No hospitals, you know that.”

“Fine,” Anya grumbled.

Lincoln came to stand beside them, appraising the damage done to Lexa’s face. “You need some kind of medical attention,” he said, “unless you want one of us to try stitching you up.”

“No!” Lexa was quick to bark. Lincoln chuckled. “Don’t we know any other doctors?”

Anya sat back on her heels, mouth twisted in thought. “Well,” she began, and then stopped herself right away, wincing.

“Well?” Lexa urged her to continue. 

Anya looked pained. “You remember the girl I was dating a few months back?” she asked her sister.

“You mean the one you never let me meet?” jeered Lexa.

“Don’t tell me you’re still bitter about that,” Anya said, but Lexa just turned her head away, a petulant set to her jaw. “Anyway, the girl I was dating knew a nursing student. She could probably help us. If she’s feeling charitable.” 

“Can you call her?” Lincoln asked. Anya did not seem at all pleased by the idea, but nodded and took her phone out of the pocket of her jeans.

__________

Clarke was startled awake by the sound of her phone vibrating on her nightstand. Squinting against the sudden glare of light from the illuminated screen, she flailed a hand out to snatch it up and bring it to her ear. Extremely displeased, she answered it by snapping, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Down, girl.” It was Raven on the other end, sounding about as tired as Clarke did. “It’s not like I wanted to be awake at two o’clock in the morning.” Raven sighed and Clarke did the same internally. “I need your help.”

Clarke’s metaphorical ears perked up. “What? Is something wrong?”

“Yes, but not with anyone you know. But I need your medical expertise. Can you come over?”

The idea of getting out of bed made Clarke want to cry, but so did the idea of letting someone injured, even a stranger, go untreated. In the end, she dragged herself out from underneath her comfy sheets and into a jacket, not bothering to change out of her pajama pants. Tucking her first aid kit into her purse and picking up her keys out of the bowl from her kitchen counter, she shut the door behind her and stepped out into the chilly night air.

__________

Anya’s ex was Raven, a sour-faced girl that crossed her arms in distaste as she made sure Lexa wouldn’t bleed on her couch. She probably wasn’t sour-faced all the time, but having her ex and her ex’s beat up sister in her living room at two in the a.m. wasn’t a recipe for smiles. It was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra; Lexa could see Anya staring from out of the corner of her eye. 

There was a girl sitting at Raven’s tiny dining room table that was making their situation exponentially more awkward. She only had on a grease-stained shirt over her panties and by the smattering of hickies decorating her neck and thighs, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that Raven and she had been up to intimate activities before Anya and Lexa had arrived. The girl was watching them both, along with Raven, as she ate a handful of dry Cheerios.

Anya had looked immediately uncomfortable at finding that Raven had another girl over, but had smoothed her expression into one of indifference, nodding at the strange girl imperiously. The girl had just blinked at them, still half asleep. She didn’t look affronted at their presence, just confused.

A knock rattled the door and Raven stopped glaring at Lexa long enough to open it. A blonde girl ducked in, eyes darting around until they found what she was there for: Lexa. She didn’t look alarmed at the state of Lexa’s face. “Hi, Raven,” the girl greeted her friend, setting her purse down on the table opposite Raven’s scantily-clad visitor. “Hi, Octavia,” she also greeted said visitor. 

“Hey, Clarke,” Octavia spoke through a mouthful of cereal. 

“So then,” Clarke said, moving closer to Lexa to squint at her cuts and bruises, “anyone want to tell me what happened here?”

Octavia looked at Raven, who looked at Anya, who looked at Lexa. Lexa straightened up, stifling a groan at the pain in her back. “I, um, got into a fight,” she said.

“Intentionally?” Clarke asked Lexa, one eyebrow raised. Lexa didn’t respond, shrugging her shoulder vaguely. Clarke huffed a breath through her nose, walking back to where Octavia sat to grab her purse. Sitting down next to Lexa, she brought out a black toiletry bag and unzipped it to reveal a stash of medical supplies. “Okay, let’s take a look.”

Despite being woken up so early in the morning, Clarke still had a friendly disposition. She cupped Lexa’s face in her hands, her touch firm but gentle. Her blue eyes roved over Lexa’s face, fingertips prodding at her skin. Lexa couldn’t help but notice that she was pretty, with her cute, dimpled chin and soft pink lips.

“I don’t think this will need stitches,” Clarke said after some deliberation, tugging at the edges of the cut on Lexa’s forehead. Lexa hissed in pain, fingers digging into the couch cushions for something to hold onto to. “Sorry,” Clarke apologized absentmindedly, rummaging through her supplies.

“Are you really qualified to decide that?” Anya asked, sounding suspicious. “Aren’t you just a student?”

“I’m in my third year of the program,” Clarke said, not sounding offended at the accusing tone of Anya’s voice. “Besides, if you want a second opinion, you could go to the emergency room, but I’m guessing that’s not an option since I’m here.” She started picking things out of her first aid kit, setting them beside her on the sofa.

Raven, who had disappeared into the kitchen, came back holding bottles of beer in between her fingers. She offered one to Clarke. “Oh no, I’ve got to drive home after this,” Clarke said, waving Raven off.

“Don’t be stupid, Clarke, you can just sleep over after you’re done.”

“Are you sure?” Clarke asked, eyes flickering over to Octavia, who was brushing crumbs off of her hands onto the floor. 

“Don’t worry, Griffin, even if Raven and I were going to fuck again tonight, we’d make sure to be quiet enough not to disturb you.” Anya cleared her throat violently, eyes widening a fraction. Octavia tittered as she stood up and dragged a chair into the living room so that she could watch Clarke nurse Lexa’s wounds, snagging one of the beers from Raven.

Raven handed Lexa the last beer. “You like you need it,” was all Raven said to her. Lexa nodded her thanks, twisting the cap off and taking a swig. The sharp taste of alcohol was a pleasant distraction from the sharp burn of her cuts.

The burn got even worse when Clarke began patting disinfectant onto her skin, cleaning up the remaining crust of blood with a cotton ball. Lexa hissed, fresh pain making her stomach turn. Clarke hushed her, too focused on her task to show Lexa much sympathy.

To stop herself from dwelling on the renewed throbbing of her own face, Lexa focused on Clarke’s. She had a good view, considering Clarke was less than a foot away. It was an honest, open face, soft and reassuring, even as she was wiping antiseptic down a bloody laceration on a stranger’s face. Her irises were like the sky on a cloudless day, the kind that Lexa would have spent in the park with Anya and Lincoln when they were children, laying on their backs in the grass and soaking up the heat of the sun. Her mouth had a permanent quirk to it, and the mole in the corner was like a period at the end of all her sentences. Her face was round but strong, with cheekbones that gave it a nice shape. Lexa noticed that Clarke was blushing, like she could feel Lexa staring at her. Their eyes locked, Clarke looking taken aback for the first time since she had walked into Raven’s apartment. A flustered Clarke, Lexa found, was even prettier than a steady, sure Clarke.

Next, Clarke paid attention to Lexa’s knuckles. She pulled them into her lap, her hands even more rough than Lexa’s, hard calluses on her fingers that scraped across Lexa’s palms. Turning Lexa’s wrists so that the darkening of bruises forming caught the light, Clarke observed the other bruises, the older ones layered underneath the fresh ones, which were still in the process of fading. “Looks like you got into more than one fight,” Clarke mumbled. She motioned Anya over and asked her to fetch an ice pack, which she draped over Lexa’s aching knuckles.

Tossing the used cotton ball into a plastic grocery bag that Raven had provided for any biohazardous materials, Clarke next screwed open a tube of Neosporin, squeezing a dollop of it onto her fingers before she spread it onto Lexa’s forehead and on the fine slice through her upper lip. After wiping the cream off onto her pants, she peeled open a bandage, spreading it over the now clean wound above Lexa’s eyebrow. She tapped it into place, careful not to press too hard.

Leaning back to admire her handiwork, Clarke seemed pleased with what she had done. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” Clarke asked, sweeping her eyes down Lexa’s body, and it was Lexa’s turn to flush, although there wasn’t even a hint of inappropriate suggestion behind the words.

“N-no,” she stuttered, curling into herself to draw away from Clarke’s probing gaze. Clarke looked incredulous but didn’t press. Taking a drink of her beer, she pushed up off the couch. Lexa watched her as she zipped up her medical bag and hid it back in her purse, then drained her beer like it was the first water she’d tasted after being stranded in the desert for days. 

“If that’s all you guys need…” Raven said, and the _then get the fuck out_ wasn’t explicitly stated but strongly implied. Anya helped Lexa off the couch, letting her lean on her heavily as she walked them to the door. Lexa’s muscles were screaming, begging her to sit down on the faded gray rug and fall asleep and not wake up for fifty years. Reluctantly, she let Anya lead her to the door.

“Thanks,” Anya said to Raven sincerely, and they exchanged awkward looks. There was a story there that Lexa needed to ask Anya about, but that could wait until after a good night’s rest.

Anya nudged her and glanced her way, making an expectant face. “Thank you, Clarke,” Lexa said stiffly, barely meeting Clarke’s gaze. Clarke nodded, a tired smile stretching her lips, and Anya and Lexa exited out of the front door without another look back.

__________

Clarke stood in Raven’s bathroom, rinsing her hands under the sink. There was a stubborn crescent of blood beneath her right ring finger, and no matter how much soap she lathered on, it wouldn’t dislodge. She supposed she should be used to having body fluids stuck up under her nails.

She could hear Raven and Octavia murmuring out in the hall. They had been dating for only two months, and already they barely spent any time apart. Clarke wondered how Octavia felt, being in the same room as one of Raven’s exes.

Clarke couldn’t keep her mind from wandering to the girl with a stony face but fiery eyes, shoulders sagging like Atlas with the world on his shoulders. Her tough façade had dwindled the longer Clarke had spent in her presence, and as she had left with her arm slung over her sister’s neck, she had looked young and tired and hurt. 

Raven opened the door as Clarke was drying her hands off. “Hey,” Raven said. “Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s good practice.” She grinned. “Plus now you owe me a favor.” Raven rolled her eyes, shutting the door behind them as they walked into the hall. Octavia was setting up a bed for Clarke on the sofa. “I don’t have classes until late tomorrow, do you want to go get breakfast?”

“Can’t, I’ve got work and Tavia’s got English Comp early tomorrow.”

“Ew,” said Clarke, and Octavia waggled her eyebrows in agreement. “How about the day after?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Octavia, and Raven hummed her agreement. “Sleep,” she ordered Clarke, and led Octavia by the hand to her bedroom.

“No loud sex!” Clarke ordered back, and they both giggled.

She rolled onto the couch and couldn’t push a certain pair of green eyes out of her mind.

__________

Ten minutes away, as Anya helped Lexa into bed, Lexa couldn’t keep a certain pair of icy blue eyes out of her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is mostly plot and only a sprinkle of clexa interaction, if you wanna skip u can

37 seconds. That was all it took for Lexa to knock the guy she was fighting out cold.

The fights were being held in a real ring this time, ropes and everything, and the other fighter crashed to the canvas, blood from his nose spraying in an arc as he fell. Lexa stood, dumb-founded, her fists still up by her chin. A roar arose from the crowd, drowning out the blood rushing in her head. 

Anya ducked under the ropes, looking just as shocked as Lexa felt. She helped Lexa off the platform, leading her through the onlookers who patted her on the back and head as they wove through. “Good fight, Commander!” someone praised her, and she nodded silently.

The locker room reeked of man-sweat and the thin wooden door did nothing to muffle the rambunctious audience still raging outside, yet to disperse. Lexa’s fight had been the last of the night, and even though the sun would rise soon, the crowd was still going strong, fueled by alcohol and excitement. 

Nyko was waiting with Lincoln, looking Lexa up and down. He took in her appearance, the lack of injuries, with raised eyebrows. “I guess you don’t need me this time, Commander,” he said as Lexa loosened the Velcro on her gloves, her sweaty palms making them slide off easy. 

“Thanks anyway,” she said, going over to the locker that had been designated for her before her first round started. She put a worn t-shirt over her sports bra, too tired and sore to take a shower until after she’d slept. 

“Don’t mention it,” Nyko said, focusing his attention on Lexa’s opponent, who was being supported by two other men, his nose leaking like a faucet. As Nyko helped lower the guy onto a foldable metal chair, Lexa and her siblings exited in a single file out the back door. 

“That was some fight, huh,” Lincoln said as they began their walk home. It was dark, incandescent street lights lining their way. Moths knocked into the bulbs, humming. Lexa had never felt unsafe walking home at night, but having her brother and sister by her sides didn’t hurt.

“I’ve never seen you win a match that fast,” Anya mused. She was right; Lexa hadn’t ever won that fast. She was good, but not that good. “Actually, you won every match pretty quickly tonight.” Anya turned to eye her. “You been taking steroids or something?”

Lexa knocked her shoulders with her sister. “Nah. Don’t you know those can give you acne and mood swings?”

“Yeah, you don’t need any more of either of those,” Lincoln interjected and flinched away before Lexa could retaliate with violence, laughing as he skipped into the road. Lexa glared half-heartedly at his retreating figure.

It was strange, how confidently and swiftly she’d made her way around the ring. She had barely gotten hit, which was a pleasant change. Her hands had moved in a blur and every kick landed with brutal precision. 

Maybe she was improving, but maybe she was just lucky.

__________

The diner was bustling with activity, the aroma of coffee mingling with the smells of morning breath and grease. The table Clarke, Raven, Octavia, and Bellamy were sitting at was still sticky from the last customers and the laminated menu was curling up at the edges. The blue-and-yellow seats of the booth were peeling away to reveal the white cushion underneath, and the silverware was spotty.

But it all still held a unique novelty to it, a something that Clarke couldn’t find anywhere else. An old man sat at the counter, chatting with a young, flirty waitress over his ketchup-covered eggs. A man ate hash browns solo as he read a paperback. There was a family in the booth behind them, a little girl studiously scribbling away on a sheet of paper that her mother had pulled out of her purse. She reminded Clarke of herself.

It was Clarke and her friends’ favorite greasy spoon, tucked into the corner of a building on a backstreet lined with hardware stores and consignment shops. No one knew how long it had been there, it just was, like an ancient monument dedicated to bacon and home fries. 

Clarke and Monty had found it after a night of drinking and Uno, its doors still open at four o’clock in the morning. They had stumbled in and drank some black coffee, the only waitress working slipping them a short stack of pancakes with a wink and an, ‘On the house.’ When Clarke had woken up the next morning, she’d been hangover-free. She had come to revere the diner and its fare like they held the cure to headaches and nausea. 

But it was also their place, where Clarke could come with her friends to wind down after an intense day of clinicals or an argument with her mom. It was an island of serenity. It felt like home.

“I need some coffee right now or my brain is going to leak out of my ears,” Bellamy said, looking very put-out in his button-up and piano key-printed tie that Octavia had gotten him for National Teacher Appreciation Day, like a grumpy accountant. 

“Why did you even bring him?” Raven asked. Bellamy, not liking her snide tone, kicked her lightly in the shin, which started a battle of calf strength under the table.

Octavia wasn’t fazed (not that she ever was). “If he doesn’t get his caffeine fix before his classes start, he scares all of his kids and then I have to hear him whine about how guilty he feels. Then he doesn’t get a good night sleep and needs a gallon of coffee in the morning. It’s a vicious cycle that I’d like to avoid starting.”

“I do not whine,” whined Bellamy. Clarke smirked into her menu. 

The bell tinkled as someone entered the restaurant, and Clarke glanced toward the door nonchalantly. She did a double take; she knew that chestnut hair and those full lips. The still-healing cut on the girl’s forehead confirmed to Clarke that the person was indeed Lexa, the same Lexa who had been on her mind the past two days non-stop.

It was within Clarke’s nature to worry about people – she wouldn’t be going into nursing if it wasn’t – but the frequency that Lexa had appeared in her thoughts was unusual for her. When Lexa featured in her dream from the night before, Clarke really started getting concerned. She had met the girl all of one time, so why was is that the picture of those green eyes wouldn’t leave her alone?

Clarke practically leapt out of her seat when she saw Lexa, startling her friends. Raising a hand to signal her, Clarke asked, “Lexa?” in a questioning tone, even though she knew full well it was her.

Lexa’s head whipped around at the calling of her name, and her eyes widened in recognition. Clarke felt a warm satisfaction in her chest that Lexa had remembered her, too. “Clarke,” said Lexa.

“Yeah! Hey,” Clarke greeted her, coming to a stop in front of her. They had been sitting the first time they had seen each other, and now that they were standing, Clarke noticed that they were almost the exact same height. Clarke could easily look into Lexa’s eyes this way, and now that it wasn’t two in the morning and there was sunlight streaming through the windows, Clarke noticed the heavy fringe of eyelashes around those emerald eyes and sharp jut of her cheekbones. She was stunning.

“Hey,” Lexa said back. Silence followed for a few beats as they stood, awkwardly observing each other. Lexa cleared her throat and asked Clarke, “You come here often?” It was the cheesiest thing she could have asked and Lexa visibly cringed at her own question, but it made Clarke stifle a chuckle.

“I do,” Clarke said. “Do you? I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Well, we've only just met, so I don’t think you would have known if you had.”

“No, believe me, I would know. Your face isn’t easy to forget.”

It fell out of Clarke’s mouth without her permission and she felt herself flush, but she swallowed down an explanation and didn’t take it back. Lexa blinked a few times but the corner of her mouth quirked up into a half-smile. 

To distract from her blurted confession, Clarke gestured at Lexa’s face and said, “It’s all looking a bit better. You’re healing nicely. Does it hurt?”

Lexa shrugged, shifting from one foot to the other. “It’s fine.”

Clarke pursed her lips, cynical. “Would you mind if I…?” She lifted her hands up, palms toward Lexa’s face. Lexa, getting the picture, nodded and leaned in closer to Clarke.

Lexa’s cheeks were warm under her fingers. The skin looked unblemished from far away, but up close, Clarke could see little scars, nicks that had healed into almost invisible lines dotting Lexa’s face. Dragging her gaze away from them, she focused on the bruise under Lexa’s eye that was fading to a yellowish-purple, and the gash on her head.

The skin had fused together, the edges cemented by a brownish-red scab. There were red lines around it, which meant Lexa had been scratching at it. Clarke wrinkled her forehead. “Don’t pick at it,” she scolded Lexa, who raised an eyebrow at her. “I mean it. It'll only make it worse.”

“But it’s itchy,” Lexa said simply, like Clarke was being unreasonable.

“Then pat it, don’t scratch.” With that, she released Lexa and stood back. Now, with nothing left for them to say to each other, the only thing keeping them in place was pure curiosity about the other. They sized each other up.

Clarke couldn’t put her finger on it, whatever it was that drew her to Lexa, that had captivated her thoughts for the past couple days. Looking at Lexa in plain daylight, she wasn’t anything special per se – she was gorgeous, but gorgeous girls were a dime a dozen. Lexa, though…The set of her shoulders and the jut of her chin, the steady, fierce glint in her eye, it all caught Clarke’s attention. Would have caught her attention even if she hadn’t already met Lexa in Raven’s apartment.

Lexa was staring at her just as intensely, wearing an unreadable expression. It lasted for a few seconds longer than was appropriate, and Clarke felt something bubbling in her chest, like a dam threatening to burst, until-

“Lexa. You’re looking better than you did the day before last.” Raven had sidled up beside Clarke, moving silently even with her bad leg. Lexa’s gaze broke away from Clarke to land unsurely on the girl speaking. 

“Yeah, uh,” said Lexa. It seemed she was rooting around in her brain for Raven’s name before she continued, “Right. I wanted to thank you again for letting us come over so early in the morning.” Another pause. “I know it meant a lot to my sister.”

A derisive grin flitted across Raven’s mouth, the kind she used when she felt uncomfortable. “It was nice seeing you again,” she said to Lexa, before wrapping a hand around Clarke’s elbow and lightly tugging her back toward their table. “Clarke, I remember you saying something about being hungry, and unless you expect food to magically appear while you’re standing here talking…?” 

Clarke got the message, only staying long enough to say, “See you, Lexa,” before she let Raven tug her along. Turning back to where they had been seated, Clarke could see Octavia and Bellamy watching them return with the same wide brown eyes. 

Clarke turned back once to see Lexa look around the restaurant, lost, before she left, the bell above the door tingling.

 

__________

Lexa’s luck was gone just as fast as it had come. The streak only lasted for a few fights – long enough for her to get a taste, and then it disappeared. Then, she actually got _worse_. 

It was like her opponents had all taken some kind of Super Mario-style power up. They were all faster and bigger and she found herself face down on the canvas more times than she was landing any punches. The other fighters were getting the drop on her for the stupidest things: she didn’t block fast enough or the noise of the crowd distracted her or, in one of her most humiliating moments as a fighter, she tripped over her own foot and knocked herself out on the floor. It was like she was witnessing her own pitiful involution.

The most recent one was with an inexperienced younger girl, a blonde, although her hair wasn’t nearly as full and gold as another head of blonde hair that had burned itself into Lexa’s mind like a spear of sunlight. The girl was taller than her but not as well built; she was twiggy, and Lexa wondered if she was getting enough to eat. Maybe that was why she had resorted to fighting in small, dingy gyms at odd hours of the night for measly amounts of cash, like Lexa had.

It had been a long fight, and bloody, the ground wet with it by the time it was over. Lexa was sure she would win but she found herself on her back, staring up at the ceiling, reeling from a powerful superman punch. The girl she’d been fighting stood over, looking worried, as the ref held her hand high in the air. Lexa couldn’t even hear the audience losing it, as they no doubt were, for the ringing in her ears. Anya and Lincoln had had to drag her from the building, not because of her injuries but because of the crippling shame. 

Lexa had decided to take a break from fighting for a few days, to get back her mojo and lick her wounds. 

They had run out of Band-Aids in the apartment and so Lexa had walked down to the drugstore to buy some. She stood in the medicinal aisle, trying to decide whether to get Star Wars or Spongebob bandages. It was a very important decision, one she spent a few minutes deliberating over. As she reached out to make her choice, a voice behind her said, “I like the Marvel superhero Band-Aids, personally.”

Lexa whipped around and was face to face with an angel dressed in scrubs. The angel was looking at her with poorly-concealed amusement, taking in the old basketball shorts she hadn’t changed out of before she'd left the house and Lincoln’s Under Armour sweatshirt that she had stolen because it was worn in all the right places. Her falling-apart flip flops completed the look. Lexa considered turning around and walking away, just straight up leaving. Clarke was too pretty and Lexa was dressed like the douchiest boy in middle school. 

It wasn’t her fault, really. No one should have permission to look that good in uniform, she told herself, and she was only human. A human that liked to be comfortable. 

“Clarke Griffin,” Lexa said. 

Clarke nodded. “That is indeed my name.” She stepped a bit closer to Lexa, and Lexa caught the smell of lemon-scented cleaner and vomit and possibly a little candy. It was a weird combination and but not unpleasant. 

She noticed Clarke was staring at her face. Squinting, in fact. “More fights, hm?” she asked. Her tone was disappointed, and to Lexa’s surprise, a rose of guilt bloomed in her chest. She tried to crush it out, lifting her chin in the air and glancing down her nose at Clarke. 

“What do you care?” she asked. Her tone had gone cold. Clarke noticed, eyes widening and shoulders shrugging appeasingly.

“Listen, I’m not judging you. I just think…” She seemed to think better of whatever she was going to say, and shook her head instead. “I was just going to say, if you ever get into a bad spot, I’m usually free. And I’ll have my trusty first aid kit ready."

Lexa nodded minutely, not sure what Clarke was offering or why she was doing it. “Thanks,” she said, because Anya told her it was rude not to be grateful when people wanted to help you. 

Clarke stared at her for a little longer, something Lexa noticed she did a lot, and then grabbed a bottle of Excedrin off the shelf. She waved a little wave to Lexa before she turned the corner and disappeared from Lexa’s line of vision. Lexa wondered why every time she met Clarke, she felt like she had just run a mile or drank a warm cup of tea. It was confusing. She rubbed a hand across her chest, trying to dispel the bubbly feeling.

 

When night fell, Lexa and her siblings were back on the circuit, in another falling-down establishment with another rowdy crowd thirsting for bloodshed. Self-doubt was clawing its way up her throat, but she tried to write it off as pre-fight jitters. Tonight was the night that she would end this string of defeats. She knew it.

Anya clapped her on the back as she ducked under the ropes. When she saw whoever it was she was fighting, she staggered back a little; they were half a foot taller than her, painted with tattoos and sneering menacingly. Lexa’s reputation had taken a few hits, and this person did not look at all intimidated by the mighty Commander.

Lexa’s hands shook as she knocked gloves with her opponent. She was already mourning for the bones she would break that night and her ever-diminishing street cred. 

It turned out that the other fighter should have been scared. It took her all of a minute to win, dodging a few lousy jabs and slamming them bodily to the ground. She had them pinned and they tapped out, face red from pain and exertion.

Lexa stood in the ring, surrounded by a roar, and that telltale rush of triumph washed over her, coating her in that fleeting, tingly feeling of achieving something, of mattering. 

Anya and Lincoln greeted her when she stepped out of the ring. “The Commander is back!” Lincoln howled, swinging her around. She begrudgingly let him. Anya looked pleased as well, ruffling Lexa’s sweaty hair. 

“Good job,” she said, and Lexa glowed with the praise.

But later, as she changed, removing her gloves while a familiar ache settled into her muscles, Lexa changed from proud to skeptical. She was a self-aware person, conscious of her own strengths and weaknesses. And one of her strengths was her consistency. But she had been anything but consistent lately, her fighting fluctuating drastically. One night she was a predator, striking clean and true, and the next night would be like her first, fumbling and unsure. It wasn’t like her, and the concern she’d had before she had won that night’s fight crept back.

The surges of power she had exhibited, like a wave of untapped strength pouring into her blood; the lighting-fast speed; the hyper focus. She was a great fighter, but not that great. Not great enough to have someone tapping out in under a minute. Something had changed.

Lexa tried to think of any new variables in her life, anything that might have set this off. Her life had been as usual: fight, sleep, go to class, to work, then fight again. She could only think of one thing that had changed for her, that had punched a hole through her comfortable routine. 

Clarke Griffin.


End file.
